Boredom Beneath the Opera House
by SymphonyinA
Summary: What does Christine do to keep from being bored when visiting Erik? A silly little one-shot. My very first fanfic I ever wrote (so please be kind). Pure fluff (and nonsense), Leroux or Kay


**I think this is funny, and I hope you do, too. This will probably be deleted once I remember I have some pride.**

 **I wrote this two years ago. It's the most ridiculous and stupid thing ever, but I've been writing such sad and depressing things I thought I needed some variety. I both apologize and regret nothing.**

 **EXPLANATION: One of Christine's visits to Erik, but he leaves for some time and she refuses to succumb to boredom... That's it. That's the gist of it.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **ERIK** :

It was a normal day in Paris... Well, under Paris, I suppose. I was rowing back to my home after having collected _my_ 20,000 francs from _my_ office.

As I stepped out and tied up the little vessel, I noticed a peculiar smell that I could not place over the musty scent of lake water. The minute I opened the door to the house, however, I was blatantly punched in the face by the strongest odor of baked goods I had ever experienced.

"Oh, please, not again..." I murmured.

The smell intensified as I approached the kitchen, and by the time I was at the doorway I was inhaling pure cookie.

I almost fainted at the sight of them. Mountains upon mountains of sweet circles were piled on plates. They were every color, every flavor. And in the middle of the mayhem, her arms crossed with a look of triumph on her flour coated face, Christine.

"Cookie?" She offered, gesturing to a particularly large pile.

"We discussed this." I replied, plopping down on an available chair.

"I got bored." She whined, slightly sliding off her chair for emphasis, "What do you expect me to do while you're gone? Besides, we're out of yarn."

I glanced instinctively to the room down the hall, which contained a closet bursting with all manner of fluffy objects including, but not limited to, socks, scarves, hats, gloves, and one lopsided sweater. All of these were the result of her other episodes of boredom.

"Why don't you just read a book?" I suggested.

"I've already read everything I like down here."

There was only one thing left for me to do.

I sighed, "I could go buy Les Misérables for you."

Her eyes lit up and she rubbed the flour from them.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." I rose to leave, then turned back to her, "And no more cookies while I'm gone!"

I exited and cool, humid air entered my lungs. I had been on a sugar high just from the smell in there. After another breath I untied the boat, wondering if it really had been worth it to bring her down here.

When I returned the place reeked of muffins.

"What did I say?" I cried, slamming the door behind myself.

"No cookies," she retorted with a smirk.

God give me courage...

"Are you doing this on purpose to annoy me?"

"Yes, isn't that obvious?"

"Maybe I won't give you this, then." I told her, shaking the brick of a book for emphasis.

"I'm not a child for you to discipline."

"You're sure acting like it."

"Please?" She pleaded, extending her powdered hands and smiling in a way that made me bend to her will.

"Do you promise no more baking?" I asked, offering the book.

She nodded, taking it from me and planting herself on the sofa of the drawing room, creating a little cloud of flour.

I turned back the the kitchen. What would we do with all the muffins?

"Oh," Christine said, looking up from her book for a moment, "And there's a cake in the oven."

I hit my head against an available wall, the mask digging painfully into my face.

"Where did you even get all the ingredients to make all these?" I asked, sitting down across from her.

"I'm very resourceful." She replied, keeping her eyes in her book.

"Do you have an intention for them?"

"Hmm... The ballerinas might like some, could you take some to them?"

"I'm not a delivery man, Christine."

"Then what am I supposed to do with all these cookies?"

"EXACTLY!" I exclaimed in exasperation.

A piercing smell of something burning cut through the sweet odor of cookies and muffins. Christine leapt to her feet.

"My cake!" She cried, rushing to the kitchen.

I chuckled, and in a moment she returned, her face flushed from the heat of the oven. Then she smiled.

"The cake is done. I need to frost it-"

"No! No more!" I cried, then more calmly, "Later, perhaps."

She sat back down at her seat reading about who knows what, miserable people I guess. I had never bothered to read that book.

After a half hour or so of us reading separately she set the book aside and came over to me.

"What is it, my dear?" I asked.

"Do you like cookies?" She said, smiling.

Why was she so beautiful even when mischievous?

"No. I despise sweets."

"What a curmudgeon you are."

"Curmudgeon?" I chuckled. "Yes, I agree with that."

"Mmhm. You wouldn't eat a cookie if I kissed it."

"What sort of argument-?"

"And take off your mask. I can barely breathe in here myself."

"I wonder why."

"Take it off," she pleaded sweetly. "I can't kiss you unless you take it off."

"K-kiss? What?"

Had she drank a bottle of champagne along with those cookies?

She giggled and clapped her hands, "Maybe I ate too much of the cookie dough."

"Maybe," I said softly, removing my mask with trembling fingers.

She placed my face in her flour coated hands, then went on tiptoe and pressed a little kiss to my forehead. I had never experienced anything so wonderful in all my life, and I melted like the chocolate she had used to make those (Christine wouldn't want me to curse) cookies.

"Curmudgeon," she teased. "Can I go home, then?"

"Of course..." I told her, feeling the spot her soft lips had touched. "Whenever you like."

"Tomorrow."

The darling angel...


End file.
